Having Haddin-uff of Cook-ing for ourselves and eating nothing but straightforward sandwiches, we decided to celebrate England’s victory over Australia in the Ashes by Broad-ening our horizons and having a bash at a burger instead, rather than pickling ourselves in beer and watering the Prime Minister’s garden as Sir Frederick Flintoff did last time.
We had some initial worries about whether a burger qualified as a sandwich, but some a priori research dispatched such doubts and we continued on our mission.
So, on St. Rauss’s day, we Trotted up North to the Breakfast Club in Hoxton and ordered one of their finest Aussie Burgers. Luckily, it’s only a short walk up the hill from our house. Sadly, they only serve their burgers in the evening session, but our passionate Monty Panesar-esque appeal, complete with skipping and yelping, was upheld and the breakfast menu was dismissed allowing the swashbuckling burger menu to come out to bat.
The waitress Siddled over, wearing a pair of Warne out Clarkes, carrying a burger bursting at the seams with pineapple, beetroot, fried egg, bacon and cheese which apparently are the key ingredients in an Australian burger. But Wats’on here? No Onions? How disa-Ponting.
Putting our initial outrage to one side we then D. Gowered the burger as if we’d been told that some Hussey from Swann Lake and her son were going to die if we didn’t finish it in 10 minutes flat. Unusual, but very satisfying – we were left rubbing our Bellies like a cat with an itch.
The Breakfast Club is a fabulous place for breakfast and serves a range of excellent sandwiches that the likes of Hughes (Duncan) Fearnley-Wittingstall would be proud of. They have outlets in Islington, Hoxton and Soho which you can track down via their website.